


I'm So Much Older Than I Can Take

by Worlds_Okayest_Goalie



Series: i carry your heart with me [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Introspection, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worlds_Okayest_Goalie/pseuds/Worlds_Okayest_Goalie
Summary: Logan keeps going. He keeps going as the wheels fall off and the whole thing disintegrates. He’s the captain. He’s the captain because they keep trading his friends and he was left behind. It’s the business, sure, and now it’s his responsibility. His fault.
Series: i carry your heart with me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628809
Comments: 19
Kudos: 72





	I'm So Much Older Than I Can Take

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McSpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McSpot/gifts).



> I've been calling Couture Captain Depression since the start of the season and going into the break, I joked that if they lost again he might just lie down on the ice and give up. Well, they keep losing. Fortunately, I decided that instead of joining Captain Grumpypants, I would write about a magical alternate universe where your heart is a manifestation of your feelings and subject to real danger if broken. This is the first thing I have posted in literal years, so be gentle!

Logan keeps going. He keeps going as the wheels fall off and the whole thing disintegrates. He’s the captain. He’s the captain because they keep trading his friends and he was left behind. It’s the business, sure, and now it’s his responsibility. His fault.

He grimly soldiers on as Coach keeps telling them to step up in the face of yet more injuries. He does his captainly rounds, tries not to beg the guys on IR to heal faster. The press asks if it’s better that some guys are out, as if the fourth-liners’ opportunities are more important than having everyone unhurt and safe.

He doesn’t look at his own heart often. Even brushing a fingertip across the glassy surface floods him with memories of those who have left, of the ways he cannot replace them, of the promises he has broken. It rattles around in his chest quietly, background noises he only notices before he drops off to sleep.

They lose again. He forces himself to talk to the call-ups. They’d done their best, even if their best wasn’t nearly enough. He’s called on for press, the last media scrum until the new year. He hopes vaguely that they can come up with new questions in the new year because he’s running out of ways to apologize for the Shitshow on Ice they’re performing every night. 

He’s not the last man into the showers that night. There are a few shell-shocked young players lingering in their stalls as the As circle and chivvy people into moving. Logan leaves them to it, old enough to know he can’t lie kindly when he’s this tired. He walks directly into the spray, face tilted up into the hot water. For a blessed moment, all he can feel is the water stinging his cheeks. The sense of being bone-tired returns, and he showers as quickly as he can. 

It’s still late by the time he gets home and he sits in the driveway for a long time, staring blankly at the neighbor’s flashing, sparkling lights. They’ve got some fucking extravagant deer display happening. He hadn’t bothered with hanging lights this year; unable to summon even a wisp of Christmas spirit. At least he’d gotten the Christmas tree over Thanksgiving, when they’d had a reprieve from the soul-crushing weight of the season. 

The tree stands barren in his living room, looking forlornly at him as he shucks his coat and shoes. He sits down heavily in the hallway, staring at the tree and the dark night outside the bay window.

It’s quiet. He aches in body and soul, but it doesn’t mean anything. A thousand little sacrifices for nothing. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. It’s quiet.

*******

He wakes to frantic hands on his face, painful and abrupt. Every inch of him aches.

He opens his bleary eyes to see Jumbo’s grizzled face. “Wha-“

Jumbo shushes him, calls out to someone. The door is open; it’s cold. He tries to roll away from the cold, but Jumbo won’t let go of him. He weakly pushes at Jumbo’s hands, feeling like he’s recovering from pneumonia. The moments of contact sharpen his mind briefly, little flares of clarity. 

The door finally fucking shuts long enough to let his face warm up a bit. His icy hands might be a lost cause, he thinks, but Jumbo doesn’t shy away when he sloppily tucks them against Jumbo’s warm neck. 

Frankie’s frowning face pops up over Jumbo’s shoulder, and Logan can’t understand why. His mind is still foggy, even if Jumbo’s presence is slowly bringing him back. The team witch looks...mad? Logan’s never done stupid rookie shit like mix herbs under a full moon and drink it, but he’s seen the results. Frankie says something, but it doesn’t register at all. Logan fights the urge to laugh hysterically as the sounds of a conversation wash over him like he’s listening to the adults in Charlie Brown. 

The door opens again and Logan has enough power to turn his face away and make a grumbling noise. Jumbo strokes his cheek soothingly, says something soft. His hands disappear and, in an instant, so does the world.

He drifts back in slowly. He’s warm, almost too warm. He’s in his dining room, he thinks, staring up at the ceiling fan he’s never hated enough to replace. 

It’s the soft brush of hair on his bare shoulder that makes him sit up as much as he can. Jumbo’s worried face swims into view. He thinks Jumbo’s mostly holding him up because his body is not responding correctly. He also realizes, suddenly and sharply, that he’s shirtless. They both must be because he can feel they’re skin to skin, Logan’s back to Jumbo’s front. He would try to pull away, but he thinks he’d probably just fall on the floor.

“Good to have you back,” Jumbo says quietly. “I know this is hard, but I need you to trust me for a little bit. Can you please stay still?” 

Logan takes a long, long time to piece those words together. He nods loosely, resting his head on Jumbo’s shoulder. Jumbo’s arms are tight around him, pressing him back firmly. It’s easy not to fight it. 

He can’t see much, everything vaguely dim and blurry. There are other noises. For a second he thinks he hears his microwave beep.

Someone takes his left hand and forces it into a fist. He’s like a puppet, unresisting and unhelpful. Both hands are moved in tandem, parallel in front of him, but out of his sight. 

There’s a pinching feeling, his and not his; it’s both within him and very far away. He realizes distantly that he’s crying. 

The pinching eases slowly. Soft hands wipe away his tears and hold up a scratchy tissue to his nose. He blows, feeling like a toddler. He feels better afterwards, enough to roughly scrub his face into his forearm. It’s uncoordinated, but it seems to clear his vision a bit.

Patty’s sitting on the table, with a tissue box in his lap. There’s something next to his hip. Frankie’s cleaning something with wires up and tucking it into a big box. 

“You’re doing really well,” Patty says, and he looks like he means it. 

Logan reaches out clumsily for whatever is on the table. He wants it. Patty catches his wrist and stops him and Logan can feel the tears welling up again. It’s like he has no control over his body.

“Hey, careful,” Patty says. He turns Logan’s hand over and places the small object into his hand. “It’s sharp still.”

He keeps his fingers on top of Logan’s, won’t let him close his hand, frustrating him in a way he can’t articulate. Frankie takes the little sharp object away and tucks it into a petri dish. He lets Logan hold the petri dish.

“That’s...strain.................enough........together,” Frankie says, and Logan can feel the pure exhaustion sucking him under.

*******

He wakes up sweaty. It’s stifling and hot and almost unbearable. It’s not that he’s never woken up with another person in bed, but he has no idea what is happening and he’s about ready to fling himself out of bed. He doesn’t remember a one night stand, but he knows how to make a quick escape. He’s maybe not proud of that skill, but it has come in handy before. Except he opens his eyes to Patty.

Patty who is asleep and holding him tightly. When he moves, Patty’s eyes shoot open. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan wriggles a little more and realizes there’s someone behind him too. Why is no one wearing any damn clothes?

He must have said it out loud because Patty answers. “Skin contact is the only thing keeping you alive right now, buddy.”

“What the fuck.” He sounds like he’s hungover, slurring a little; his mouth feels like it’s coated in fuzz.

Patty’s face is horribly sympathetic. “Here, you’re probably dehydrated too.” He pulls a half-empty Gatorade from the nightstand and tries to prop Logan up so he can sip from it. 

Logan rears away from this ridiculous caretaking and almost throws up from the sudden nausea. When his roiling stomach and sudden headache have subsided, Tomáš is next to him, bare legs draped over his legs, holding him steady. 

“Stop moving,” Tomáš orders, looking serious, almost frightened. It’s uncharacteristic enough to make Logan momentarily obedient.

“We’ll explain more, but you’ve been out of it for a while and you need to eat and drink. Start with this,” Patty says quietly, holding the Gatorade up again. Logan acquiesces. It’s vaguely warm and disgusting, but his throat is dry and it suffices.

They maneuver him so he’s leaning against some pillows and Tommy keeps their legs entangled while he reaches for his phone.

Frankie and Jumbo walk without knocking and Logan is beginning to feel like his bedroom is a little small for whatever this is.

Logan’s always thought that Charles Franklin looked like he walked straight out of a mob movie and he’s in fine form today, scowling like some mafioso. It’s a look usually reserved for players who got hexed by an ex and lied about it until someone noticed the spell. He grunts and crosses his arms. “Why the fuck didn’t you come to me?”

“What?” Why would Logan need to go to a heart witch? He’s not cursed.

“How many cracks in your heart do you think constitutes an emergency?” Frankie is pissed at him and Logan is just too tired.

“My heart is fine.” It’s a little scuffed, maybe, but it’s fine. That’ll heal in the off-season, like it always does.

“No,” Patty says, sounding miserable. He picks up a little Petri dish from the nightstand and hands it over. 

Logan can see tiny glass pieces, swallowed in some matte metallic border. With dull horror, he realizes it’s his. It’s part of his heart, just a fractional piece, and it’s drowning in heavy metal. He finds the hollow in himself readily and he can feel his shallow breaths increasing as he comes to grips with the fact that he doesn’t have a heart. Patty rubs small circles on his back, grounding him, keeping him from shaking apart. Someone takes the shards out of his hand delicately and he just lets them, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t know,” Frankie says, somehow simultaneously skeptical and resigned. He mutters something under his breath, frustrated. 

Jumbo sits down on the bed, the frame creaking ominously as it tries to adjust to four hockey players. He reaches out slowly to point to one of the shards in the dish. “I found this yesterday.”

Patty points to the other piece. “That one came to me.”

Logan doesn’t understand. You give your heart away to someone or something you love above all else. Your heart chips and breaks from sorrow or grief, but the chipped pieces don’t go anywhere.

Tomáš leans in and holds out his hand, a sharp sliver of glass cradled in his palm. “This is mine. You gave to us, but we don’t need it. We need you complete.” His eyes are so dark and so serious.

“We soldered the two pieces from last night together,” Frankie explains gruffly. “Your teammates and coaching staff argued that staying in your home would be better for your recovery than being in a hospital, so I acquiesced, but you absolutely cannot go without skin contact right now. They’re directly feeding you all the love in their hearts to keep you alive.”

Logan can feel that his face is on fire and he clumsily hides behind his hands. “Okay. Can’t do that forever, so what’s the plan?”

“The team is tracking down all the fragments they can find. Most of them seem to have gone to your teammates, but we don’t know how many pieces your heart shattered into.You need to put the pieces together yourself.”

Logan looks at his shaky hands dubiously. “What if I can’t?”

“We’ll help,” Patty says firmly. “You need to be conscious, but we can guide your hands just like we did last night. Now, we want to add Tomáš’ piece, but you need food first. You haven’t had anything but broth and gatorade. This process is likely to take a lot out of you, so we want you to be fed just in case you need to sleep for a long time again.”

“It will get easier,” Frankie says quietly, not reassuring, but factual. It’s as close to concern as Logan’s ever seen from him.

They leave him in bed with Tomáš while they go get food he can eat. He eats slowly and messily in bed, while Tommy reads the group chat to him. He can’t manage to feel anything, even when he knows intellectually that his teammates sound worried about him. 

After breakfast, they transfer him to the kitchen, an excruciatingly slow shuffle, sandwiched between Patty and Jumbo. Logan wants to just lie down on the floor and stop trying. 

They make him sit against Patty, the two of them barely fitting into the dining table chairs. Jumbo brings a useless modesty blanket and drapes it over their laps. 

Frankie opens up his box again and now Logan can see the pointy metal wand and the dull silvery wire coil. There’s also a roll of coppery ribbon on the table. 

Frankie narrates as he gets it all out. “First step is to line the shard with the copper tape, then you let the solder drip into the gap between the two to make a solid bond.”

Logan lets Patty open the petri dish and lay out Tommy’s shard next to it. They don’t match. The edges are all wrong.

Patty sees it when he does. “Aw, shit. We need more connecting pieces.”

“I will text the group,” Tomáš volunteers. He takes a quick picture of the shards they have and sends it out.

It doesn’t take long for his phone to buzz a few times. “Deller and Bancer think their pieces fit.” He taps rapidly at his phone, fingers flying. “They come over now.”

While they wait, Patty keeps shoving food and drink at Logan. He’s becoming increasingly aware that at some point he has to use the bathroom and only the fact that he can hardly feel anything at all is keeping him from dying of shame. The doorbell ringing is a reprieve.

The guys shuffle in, throwing their coats over chairs and kicking off their shoes haphazardly. Their roving eyes search his face for something. Deller nods to himself and sits down at the table, his eyes carefully never wandering down to where Patty’s hands are gripping Logan’s sides. 

“I think my piece goes here,” he says, sliding a little shard over. It looks like a reasonable fit. 

Kevin is still standing, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the whole scene.

Logan reaches for the new fragment with shaking hands and Jumbo says, “Wait. Let Deller tape it first.”

Frankie walks Aaron through the process, pressing and sealing the tape down without air bubbles. It takes longer than Logan thought it would for such a small piece, but there’s a part of him that appreciates the attention to detail.

Deller fits his piece up against the larger work that’s already been mended and waits patiently. He holds it there on the table, careful with the sharp edges.

“Alright, can you hold out your hands?” Jumbo asks.

Logan offers them up limply and lets Tomáš and Joe each take one hand and fit it around the soldering iron and the solder spool. They guide his hands slowly, the liquid solder pooling and drying in little blobs. It’s not attractive, but it’s effective.

When they release him, his hands are shaking even harder and he realizes he’s been holding his breath all along. Patty keeps holding him, runs his thumb soothingly over Logan’s stomach. “You’re doing so well.” It doesn’t sound patronizing, though it easily could. It’s just Patty being unfailingly kind.

He’s exhausted, slumping helplessly in Patty’s arms. “Couch,” he suggests breathlessly.

They get him to the couch and let him collapse into Tomáš’s waiting arms. He’s asleep instantly.

He wakes up and he has to piss so badly. This is what he gets for not being able to say no to Patty. He pats frantically at the arm slung around his chest. He insists, “Bathroom.” 

Tomáš helps him sit up and averts his eyes. “Do you want me to help?”

“No!”

“Then I go get Patty?”

“No!” Logan does not need someone holding his dick. 

“Two options,” Tommy says, grip tightening on Logan’s arm. 

Joe walks in and sets down the box in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Logan bites out. “He won’t let me.”

“Not true!” Tomáš protests indignantly. 

Jumbo shucks his shirt easily and holds his hands out to Logan. “Alright, let’s go. No reason to give yourself a bladder infection on top of everything else.”

Logan folds his arms, petulantly ignoring his screaming bladder.

Jumbo frowns at him and the rookie in him shrinks a little. That’s his captain, his disappointed mentor.

He doesn’t really fight it when Jumbo forcibly tugs him up and shuffles him to the bathroom. Logan’s feet drag on the carpet, rough and uncomfortable. “I should get a new carpet,” he says quietly. 

“Sure, bud. I’ll recommend an interior designer whenever you’re up to it.” Jumbo moves him more easily than Logan would have expected. He kicks the door shut behind them for the illusion of privacy. Logan doesn’t know who else is in his home, but literally none of them need to watch him pee.

Jumbo does not find this a compelling argument. “Either you let me hold you up and keep you from falling face first into your toilet or you pass out and piss yourself. Don’t be an idiot. I held your hair back when you were drunkenly puking your guts out as a rookie. At least this time, it’s not your fault.”

Logan doesn’t know if it’s possible to disassociate while peeing, but he’ll give it the old college try. “Don’t look,” he says as a final show of defiance. 

“You don’t have anything I’m interested in,” Jumbo assures him, clearly trying not to laugh. Logan scowls and works on shoving his underwear down. Jumbo helps him sit and then just takes a knee there to keep hugging him. 

It physically aches, but he can’t fucking pee. He’s never thought he had a particularly shy bladder, but apparently a grown man hugging him is where he draws the line. He scrunches his eyes shut, clenches his fists, and tries very hard to think of waterfalls.

Once the first trickle starts, it’s easier. He makes it through without much further difficulty, though he studiously avoids Jumbo’s eyes in the mirror as he washes his hands. 

Jumbo hands him a towel to dry his hands and then lets him push the door open and lead them out. He feels better for having slept and he will definitely not be accepting everything Patty puts in front of his face. He stops dead in the hall when he sees what’s happening in his living room. The tree is lit up and there’s a pair of long legs sticking out from under the tree. 

“What’s happening?” 

“Oh good,” Patty says as he walks into the room. “You’re back.”

Kevin slithers out from under the tree, pine needles in his hair. There’s a glass in his hands, and his sleeve is wet. “Most of the water went in the tree. Do you think it needs more?” He offers Patty the glass and Patty takes it. Kevin takes off his sweater and tosses it to the nearest chair.

“Should be okay for now.” Patty turns back to Logan. “We kind of needed something to do and we figured we could handle plugging in some lights.”

“You didn’t have to,” Logan says quietly. 

“It’s Christmas Eve, Cooch,” Kevin protests, like he thinks Logan is going to make them take it all down again. 

“I know.” He realizes that Jumbo and Patty seem to have stayed here overnight. Stayed with him, even though it’s the holidays, their time to spend with family. He turns in Jumbo’s arms and asks, worried, “Why are you here? You should be with your kids.”

“The kids are fine.” Jumbo’s tone is steady and reassuring. “Their cousins are in town to distract them and my wife understands why I can’t be home right now.”

“You scared the shit out of us, kid,” Patty chimes in. “I don’t think our families would be comfortable knowing we abandoned you during the holidays.”

“And since we can’t drag your grumpy ass to any family functions, we’re staying here.” They would, Jumbo is saying, prop him in a corner like the world’s shittiest Elf on a Shelf if they could, but they’re giving him a modicum of dignity. They’re sacrificing their downtime to make sure he doesn’t have to spend his holiday in a hospital ward surrounded by strangers.

Logan is more than a little mortified at his own thoughtlessness. He wilts in Jumbo’s grasp. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t...” he peters off, unable to summon the words. 

“Nope,” Jumbo shakes him lightly. “No apologies needed, as long as you agree to check on your heart a little more regularly going forward. I’d like to play for another ten years and another heart attack like that might just do me in.”

“I’ll be responsible. I swear. You won’t have to worry about me.”

“Dumbass, we all worry about you,” Patty chides. “Kevin, do you worry about him?” 

Kevin looks like he’d like to slide back under the tree, but he nods abruptly.

Patty shrugs like he’s proved his point. “Let’s see if we can get some more food in you before we go back to fixing your heart.”

“I’m okay,” Logan says hurriedly. “What’s the next step? Kevin’s piece?”

“I have it,” Kevin says, fishing in his jacket pocket. He unwraps a piece of grey cloth to show the shard he’s kept safe. It’s already lined in copper, ready to go.

Logan nods and begins the slow march to the dining room. 

Kevin fits the pieces together, sitting at the table, looking up at Logan with furrowed brows. 

“Thank you, Bancer,” Logan says softly. 

He’s regained some dexterity in his right hand, but the left is still shaky, so Patty helps him out. It’s a smaller piece, so it’s over more quickly. Kevin sets the jagged piece into the dish. 

“I think we can do Tomáš’ piece next,” Patty suggests, looking Logan over carefully. Jumbo nods behind Logan, bumping his chin into Logan’s shoulder.

Tomáš talks the whole time, updating Logan on what other people have posted on Instagram for the holidays and reminiscing about what he did as a child in the winter, and reviewing some restaurant he and Simmer went to in Arizona. Logan misses half of it from the pain and dizziness and another quarter from Tomáš’ absurd speed, but it’s comforting. It’s probably illusory, but the edges seem softer and less jagged as he inspects his heart. He’s not tired enough to sleep, so Jumbo and Patty try to figure out who needs to bring another piece in. 

Tomáš decides this is the perfect time to turn into a Christmas dictator and extract information about decorations from Logan so he can order Kevin to go find boxes. 

Burnzie walks in on Tomáš and Kevin arguing loudly about where to put a little glass reindeer ornament so that it catches the light. Logan’s wedged obediently on the couch between Tomáš and Joe, trying not to get an elbow to the head as Tomáš gestures emphatically at the tree. 

Burnzie smiles faintly and ducks into the kitchen to find Patty. 

“As soon as Frankie gets back,” Jumbo says into Logan’s ear, “we can start.”

“Why do we have to wait?” They hadn’t waited for Tommy or Bancer’s pieces.

“We’re not certified on the prep.”

Logan has so many questions. “Certified? And who is we?”

“Me ‘n’ Patty. We got certified years back in some low-level heart diagnostics and repair, but we never had the aptitude or time for anything more. That’s why Frankie let you stay with us. But he’s the one who does all the set up and everything so that the shards re-bond correctly. We don’t want to take any chances with that.”

Logan isn’t going to process what it means that Frankie trusted two hockey players to do heart care. “When did you guys get certified?”

“When I lost the C.” 

Logan winces, but Jumbo keeps going with a wry smile. Hertl’s still bellowing on his other side, so this conversation feels strangely private even in a crowded room. 

“Patty had lost his before and when Doug came to talk to me, I knew what was happening. I spent some of that off-season fixing my own heart. Patty suggested the seminar and we both got a lot from it. Mostly, it just made us more careful with our own hearts and our families’ hearts. We never expected getting certified would be the one way we’d keep our captain alive.” Jumbo notices his grimace and squeezes his shoulder gently. “We’re glad you’re lucky enough to have two level 1’s on your team. Gladder still that Frankie’s an 8 and a rule breaker. Guess he figured that if I could keep you alive until he got here, I wasn’t the worst option.”

Joe’s arm slung around his shoulder is strong and solid. He leans into him as Tomáš and Kevin finally come to a détente on the appropriate number of bows to tie on a tree. 

Eventually, Frankie arrives, but he’s not alone. He’s towed several of the call-ups with him. Logan isn’t super surprised that shattering his heart for the team would send a piece to Midds or Sumo, but he definitely didn’t expect to see Trevor walk through the door. 

Frankie doesn’t even say hi, just herds them all into Logan’s kitchen like he owns it.

Logan would take time to be irritated about this many people taking over his house if Patty didn’t emerge with a plate of food for him. 

Tomáš “helps” him with it, nibbling on some of the carrots and stealing a few pieces of pasta. Logan can’t finish it, but he’d feel bad handing the plate back to Patty without trying. 

Frankie sends Middsy to summon them. 

“We’re ready,” he says, inscrutable behind his dark beard. 

Patty takes the plate from Logan and Tommy and Jumbo pull him to his feet. Tomáš insists that it’s his turn to have Logan sit on him and Jumbo lets him get his way, just like he always does. 

Sumo’s up first, focusing on the shard in his hand like it will disappear if he looks away. Tomáš reaches around Logan and holds Sumo’s hands together, showing him how to keep the pieces steadily aligned.

He pats Logan’s side when Suomela’s hands are steady. “All ready.”

Logan’s getting the hang of this stupid process and the more pieces he collects, the more he’s able to bear. 

Suomela’s piece is small and quickly finished. Trevor’s is much the same and Logan’s pleased to see that his hands aren’t shaking in front of the rookies.

They bundle up and head out together, talking quietly about their holiday plans.

Frankie makes the decision that it’s wiser to attach Middsy’s piece to Burnzie’s before they’re attached to the main heart. 

Burnzie smiles, soft crow’s feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Gotta keep a D-pair together, huh?”

Logan rolls his eyes, but he can feel the faint echoes of how carefully the defensemen have taken care of his heart. 

Midds adjusts to how Burnzie is holding his piece and it’s pretty easy to adhere the two pieces. 

“Here,” Burnzie says, “I can hold it from here. You can head home.”

Jake wavers for a moment. He looks at Logan, concern furrowing his brow. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Logan shakes his head. “Go home, Midds. Enjoy your holiday with your family.” He knows Keaton and Jacob’s parents were flying in. He remembers the struggle of a long season without family nearby and he won’t begrudge them a moment.

“Alright.” Middsy taps the table with his fingertips, lingering. “Just, take care of yourself.”

Logan nods, touched. Jake pats Burnzie's shoulder and collects his things.

Burnzie holds the pieces together, gently bracing them in his large hands. "Ready when you are, Cooch.”

Logan takes his time. Now that he has better control of his hands, there's a vain part of him that wants to be neater. Still, by the end, he's rushing as his left hand cramps.

Burnzie sets his heart in the petri dish carefully before he stands. Logan assumes he is planning to follow Midds out the door, but instead he walks around the table.

"C'mere," he says,gripping Logan's forearms to pull him up out of Tomáš' lap.

"Don't you have to get home?" Logan ask as Burnzie guides him to the bedroom. His sense of balance is completely fucked, so he’s dependent on Burnzie as he lists around corners dangerously. At least he’s still relatively clear-headed. 

"Not for a little while.” 

Burnzie holds him up in front of the bathroom mirror as he messily brushes his teeth. It’s been a little while since his mouth was minty fresh and he realizes it’s part of why he’s felt so gross.

Burnzie marches him easily to the bed.

“Anything else you need before we sleep?”

“No.” Logan pauses. “We?”

“I'm the night shift tonight. Got any preferences about who else joins us?"

"Why does anyone need to?" It's a little whiny, but Logan didn’t shop for his bed with the assumption that it would have to handle multiple teammates.

"It’s hard," Burnzie explains, as he helps Logan under the covers. "Very draining to replace someone's heart. That's why Patty and Jumbo have been trying to keep at least two people in contact with you at all times.

"Oh." 

“They’re a little more experienced so it’s easier for them to portion it out safely.” Burnzie tosses his shirt over the edge of the bed and kicks off his jeans. They’re only apart for a moment, but Logan’s head throbs.

“Safely?” Logan can feel the lassitude dragging him down, sinking him into the mattress.

“When we’re asleep we have less control.”

That’s a basic fact about hearts that even child knows, so Logan nods. Burnzie continues quietly, as he tucks his legs behind Logan’s, “Your heart is both in great distress and absent, so the people who love you keep trying to fill that void. When we’re both asleep, it’s easy for us to give too much and put too much strain on our own hearts. It’s safer if multiple people can give you love in regulated moderation instead of having you rely on one person.”

“Wish everyone would stop talking about loving me.” He’s tired and grumpy, unable to control any emotions and a little embarrassed. It’s not that they’re a habitually cold or unaffectionate team, but it’s not usually directed at him with such force and focus. 

“Too bad, buddy.” Burnzie prods him in the side and he shifts away until Burnzie forcibly hugs him again. “You’re our brother and we love you.” 

Logan knows he’s not winning this argument on a moral or physical plane, so he lets sleep pull him under. The cowardly way out is remarkably pleasant. 

*******

Waking up is less pleasant. He’s still got that lingering soreness, like he worked out too hard and didn’t rest properly. Burnzie’s beard is poking his shoulder and it’s too warm by far. 

Except he opens his eyes and Burnzie’s back is in front of him, the source of the unbearable heat. He wriggles to find Jumbo behind him, eyes determinedly shut. 

“It’s six am,” Jumbo mutters. “Go back to sleep.”

Logan manages to crane his neck until he can see the clock. “It’s eight.”

“You’re too sick to be this bossy,” Jumbo complains, cracking one eye open balefully.

Logan frowns at him. “I’m gross. I want a shower.”

Jumbo reaches over him and whacks at Burnzie’s shoulder. Burnzie wakes slowly, looking fresh as a daisy as he rolls over carefully. He tilts his chin quizzically at Jumbo, planting a hot hand on Logan’s ribs for balance.

“Cooch wants a shower.”

“I assume I’m not allowed to go alone?” Logan says, knowing by now that it’s pointless.

“Nope,” Burnzie says quickly. “Gimme a minute.” He manages to clamber out of bed without jostling them and leaves the room in just his boxers. 

For lack of anything better to do, Logan watches Jumbo fall back asleep. He doesn’t notice the grey hairs so much in the room or under the stadium lights. It’s only here, when Joe’s near sleep and perfectly honest, that Logan can see the bags under his eyes. He’s been focused on a lot of things this year, but he hasn’t really been able to see the toll this season has taken on the other vets. 

The rookies have run the gamut of reactions from absolute devastation to bull-headed determination. Anyone who wears a letter has taken more time to keep the rookies steady than anything else. It makes Logan worry about what else he’s been missing.

Burnzie comes back and pops in and out of the bathroom. He offers Logan his hands and pulls him to his feet. Logan feels less wobbly than he did the night before. He manages to make it to the bathroom without too much trouble. Burnzie sticks uncomfortably close, but he’s no longer supporting all of Logan’s weight. Logan brushes his teeth and pees while he’s there, ignoring the cracked-open door. He never really appreciated his bathroom privacy and he promises himself that as soon as this is over, he’s going to spend a good, long while by himself in absolute silence.

Burnzie’s got the sense to stay quiet, but he does comment after Logan’s used the toilet, “Just leave them off. You’re going to shower anyway.” Logan kicks his underwear marginally closer to the hamper. 

Burnzie’s found some stepstool and stuck it in the shower. It’s small, but Logan manages to perch on it at Burnzie’s request. Burnzie stands behind him and keeps his hands on him. He’s still, like Logan will somehow forget he’s there.

Logan turns the faucet on and waits for the water to get warm enough. He’s grateful he thought to have a detachable shower head installed, though he was anticipating arm injuries, not a broken heart. 

He’s mostly rinsed himself off when there’s a quiet knock.

“Just me,” Eddie says as he pokes his head in. The room is slightly fogged, but Logan recognizes his voice instantly. 

“Did you grab extra towels?” Burnzie asks, startling Logan. He’d actually almost forgotten Burnzie was there. 

“Yep.”

The shadowy figure of Eddie places a towel down next to the shower, on top of the existing bath mat. Burnzie helps Logan stand, gripping Logan’s wet arms firmly. Logan instinctively covers his crotch, because while it’s too late for Burnzie, Eddie probably doesn’t need an eyeful.

“Here we go,” Eddie says, holding up a towel. There are a couple more folded on the counter. Logan steps forward and lets Eddie wrap the towel around his waist. Eddie’s remarkably efficient in folding the waistband over to secure the towel. Eddie hands him one towel and then grabs the other himself. “Dry off what you can reach.”

Burnzie shuffles around so Eddie can get at Logan’s legs, keeping in contact the whole time. Logan pats his chest and arms dry as well as he can with Burnzie still lightly dripping on him. 

“Come on,” Eddie says, putting aside the towel and opening his arms. “Let’s go find your underwear.”

Logan sort of wishes they had thought this through beforehand, but he leans into Eddie anyway and they make their awkward way out of the bathroom. 

Eddie manages to keep them both upright while Logan shimmies on his underwear. Eddie tears away the towel, his arms still wrapped around Logan, flourishing it like an amateur magician. “Merry Christmas.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s Christmas, Cooch.”

Logan takes stock of that. He should probably call his parents. They don’t need the gory details, but he still should call.

“Breakfast time.” Eddie strong-arms him downstairs and onto the couch. Patty shows up with eggs around the same time that Burnzie comes downstairs. He’s still shirtless, but he’s retrieved his pants. 

Patty sits on the coffee table across from them and talks while Logan eats. 

“Okay, we’ve located way more pieces with the team, but with today being Christmas, we’ve had to create a weird schedule based on who’s got family in town. Jumbo and I are taking turns going home today so we’ll be in and out too. We’ll try to repair more today, but some of it might have to wait until tomorrow.”

They do try, though they have to wait for Patty at least once and Frankie is clearly getting annoyed by the rotating door of players showing up a little late and distracted. Logan can’t blame the guys for wanting to be with their families.

Eddie’s piece is a relatively quick fix with even, clean edges. He just has Logan sit in the vee of his legs and wraps his arms around to hold the pieces steady. He keeps his chin hooked over Logan’s shoulder when they’re done and turns Logan’s heart over thoughtfully. “Looks better.”

Logan hums in agreement and gently takes the messy heart back.

Both Karlssons drop by within hours of each other. Melker looks nervous, like he’s afraid he’ll drop Logan’s heart. Erik won’t stop touching Logan’s face tenderly, like he can heal him with his constant, European displays of affection. 

It’s very hard to argue with Erik when he’s speaking in that soft, reasonable tone. Before he leaves, he catches Logan’s face one last time and says, “You are doing so much. You don’t have to do it alone. Ask for help. Trust us like we trust you.” Logan knows Erik’s captained a team through the absolute worst he could imagine. It’s simultaneously both a comfort and a source of insecurity. None of them, his former captains or other leadership guys, have ever undermined him in any way, but he still feels like he has something to prove. 

Erik pats his face and nods decisively. He leaves and Logan has too much time to chew on Erik’s words. He’s always been terrible at asking for help. It’s his best and worst quality as a teammate; he knows he drove some guys in juniors crazy. He doesn’t blame others when they struggle, but he takes it all on himself. Every single loss is deeply personal. Being the captain hasn’t improved that at all. Instead of just thinking  _ it’s my fault that I missed that pass  _ he’s added  _ I should have said that during the intermission  _ or  _ I should have insisted on running that drill again  _ to the litany of failures _. _

Marcus and Timo come over in the late afternoon, but Logan crashes after adding Timo’s piece. Patty herds them all into bed, where Logan notices that his sheets have been changed before he passes out.

He wakes up to his face buried in Marcus’s unmistakable hair, so the arm around his waist belongs to Timo. Thankfully they napped on top of the comforter so it’s not boilingly hot. When he stretches slowly, the foot of his bed makes a disgruntled noise. He tilts his head up and Marcus moves abruptly too. 

Simmer’s lying across the end of the bed, playing with his phone. He gives Marcus the death stare like he’s responsible for Cooch stretching, then pats Logan’s ankles. “Awake?”

Logan nods. “Yeah. Needed that nap.” He sits up slowly, Timo putting his muscles to good use and bracing him from behind. He’s mildly dizzy, but it’s not terrible. 

Marcus ties his hair up neatly, then gets out of bed. He’s still got his pants on, but Timo’s down to his underwear. Logan’s not sure how they agreed on that, but he hasn’t been allowed pants in a few days and he’s verging on jealous. 

Timo pats at his hip. “Ready to get up?”

Logan sighs and shifts forward. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Simmer watches them make their slow way to the door, still indolently lying on the bed. Logan assumes he’ll follow them eventually. 

He’s finally feeling steadier on his feet. It almost makes things worse, to be nearly healthy, but still so dependent.

Timo forcibly directs him towards the couch, but leaves him in Marcus’ hands. Marcus, ever his own little weird person, decides that he’s going to lay across Logan’s lap like a spoilt cat. Logan releases his pent up frustrations by poking Marcus in the ribs every time Marcus tries to ignore Logan and look at his phone. 

It takes a while, but Marcus finally snaps and swats at his hands. “Stop it. Be nice.”

“Yeah,” Simmer says, with a little grin, “be nice. It’s Christmas.”

Timo saves them by appearing with a plate of food. “Burnzie dropped this off. Christmas dinner for you, Cooch.”

“How am I supposed to eat like this?” Logan gestures patiently to Marcus’ sprawled form.

Timo sizes them up and then shrugs and sets the plate on Marcus’ stomach. Marcus glares at Timo, but stays perfectly still. 

It’s a decent spread, maybe leftovers from Burnzie’s Christmas cooking. It’s warm and Logan’s hungrier than he’s been recently. He manages to finish most of the plate without even thinking about it. He leans back, one careful hand still balancing the plate on Marcus’ relaxed midsection. Simmer’s winning whatever phone game he’s making Timo play with him.

“It’s not fair,” Timo argues, stabbing at his phone. “You’ve got too much practice. Fuck! I want a rematch!”

Simmer gives him the dead-eyes and says, toneless, “No.”

Marcus laughs quietly, his warm stomach moving against Logan’s hand. He shifts and rests his hand on Logan’s. “Done?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Marcus tugs the plate out of Logan’s grasp and holds it out in Timo’s direction. “Can you put this in the kitchen?”

Timo goes, though he keeps grumbling. Simmer’s face is still, but there’s a hint of mirth in his eyes when he looks at Logan. Logan’s sure that whatever stupid game they played is about to become an all-out war during the next roadie. 

Simmer’s got an unshakeable confidence that’s unusual for a player who’s moved to a new country, but Logan appreciates it when his heart is literally in Simmer’s hands. Simmer’s piece is one of the bigger ones and replacing it settles something in Logan that he didn’t know he was missing. 

Marcus adds his piece with precision, like he can feel as well as Logan when it slots into place. Logan’s work on that piece is the neatest it has been, almost smooth even around the curve. Marcus rubs a fond thumb over the dried seam before he carefully hands it back to Logan. There are missing chunks and weird rough patches, but it no longer looks like melting shards of ice. It’s less ephemeral now that they’ve worked to repair it. Frankie makes the executive decision that it’s whole enough to actually go back in its place instead of living in the little petri dish. There aren’t any spear-like edges that would catch and bleed, just sliced-open hollows and a multitude of claw-like scratches.

Jumbo comes back for the night, full of stories about how his kids and their cousins are hopped up on sugar. “It’s really a blessing, Cooch, to escape that fucking house,” he says as he strips down.

Timo and Simmer say their goodbyes, both equally unnerving in the length and intensity of the stares they give him. Timo’s got an eyebrow advantage, but there’s something lurking in Simmer’s gaze that makes him shiver.

“Take care of yourself,” Timo says, squeezing Logan until he can barely breathe. Over Timo’s shoulder, Simmer nods decisively.

Marcus is apparently on the roster for the night too, but he escapes to the guest bathroom for a shower before bed.

Logan yawns as Jumbo settles down next to him on the couch, then looks around for his phone. He has no clue where it is. “I gotta call my parents,” he says quietly, but makes no attempt to get up. “Do you know where my phone is?” He really never thought he’d need a landline in his house. 

Jumbo stretches one long leg out to drag his pants over. He fishes his phone out and hands it to Logan. “Use mine?”

Logan takes it. “Sure.” It’s extremely odd to call his parents while Jumbo holds him close, but he doesn’t have a better option and waiting until Marcus came back would only double the awkwardness.

His mom picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, mom, it’s me.”

“Where are you calling from?” She sounds confused and he doesn’t blame her. “Is this why you didn’t answer earlier?”

“Had to borrow Jumbo’s phone,” he says. “If you called earlier, I missed it. It’s been busy and I’m not sure where I put my phone.”

She starts to launch into a lecture about the people who had come over for Christmas who had all wanted to skype him, but he cuts her off. “I’ve been sick, mom. The team’s taking care of me, but I haven’t been doing well.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

The longer he pauses, the more frantic she sounds. He finally says, “Heartsick, mom. Managed to break my heart pretty badly and it’s been rough.”

“Do we need to come down?” He can hear her lean away from the phone to call urgently for his dad. “How did you break your heart?”

“Don’t know. You don’t need to come down, I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know. You guys still have the trip planned in February and I’ll see you then.”

There’s a muffled noise and then his dad says, “Why does your mother look like you just told her that you got traded to the Panthers?”

“Just said I was sick, is all,” Logan says tiredly.

“You alright?” His dad’s warm voice soothes him. 

“I will be. Team’s taking care of it.”

“You better rest, then,” his dad says seriously. “You can’t afford to get sick this time of year. Call us when you’re up for talking more, but take care of yourself. Let us know if you need us to come down and help you handle things.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, we’ll talk to you later. Merry Christmas, kid.”

His mom takes back the phone and makes him reassure her once more that he doesn’t need her to come down. When she says goodnight and he can hang up finally, he’s more tired than he thought he’d be. He hands the phone back to Jumbo who silently takes it and hugs him a little tighter.

They get ready for bed, which is to say they brush their teeth because Logan is still not allowed to put any pajamas on. 

“Frankie talked to me today,” Jumbo says, once they’re settled. “He thinks we’ll be able to wean you off of the constant contact once we’ve got all the pieces.”

Logan certainly hopes so, though he doesn’t say anything. Marcus comes to bed late, but Logan barely stirs as the sheets shift. 

*******

His dreams are strange, disjointed, and he wakes up feeling quite sad. He presses a hand over his breastbone, like he can stem the ache there. It fades with all memories of the dream.

Jumbo makes his excuses after they all get out of bed and leaves Logan in Marcus’ hands. Frankie doesn’t even let them get breakfast before Goody gets there, intent on doing some diagnostic testing. Logan mostly has to sit still while Frankie tinkers, which is infinitely more boring than having to do any kind of task. He waits and studies Frankie’s face. It’s inscrutable and he doesn’t even have a clue what Frankie’s quiet scratchings on a notepad mean.

Frankie hands him back his heart gently, lets him settle it into the hollow of his chest. The ache he woke up with returns faintly. “You’re doing much better. We’ll try decreasing contact this afternoon to test tolerance.”

“That’s good?”

“It’s promising,” Frankie hedges, which is mildly concerning. He’s not the sort of man who usually makes estimations and guesses.

Goody comes in like a whirlwind, nose pink from the cold. “Hey,” he says with a grin. He hugs Logan impulsively, icy fingers worming their way between the nape of Logan’s neck and Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus gently shoves him back, smiling faintly.

“Fucking cold,” Marcus grouses into Logan’s ear. Logan’s pretty sure he has no room to talk since Logan’s relying entirely on his warmth in the absence of real clothes.

Goody looks genuinely happy to see him, not like Logan’s on his deathbed; it’s strangely refreshing. He chatters as he takes off his coat and hangs it up in the hallway. He kicks his shoes off and follows them inside, brimming with cheer.

He listens intently when Frankie explains his role. He’s careful with the tape, focusing on each and every fold around his piece. 

It’s easy to sit down with him and make the repairs. Goody doesn’t ask a lot of questions, but he pays attention to everything. He adjusts his grip on his piece as Logan works without even being told to move. 

Logan sighs when it’s done. “Thank you.” He’s had a distinct lack of manners over the past few days, but he knows a little appreciation from him goes a long way. He’s not naturally effusive, so as a captain he has had to practice verbal compliments and he’s gotten better. It’s just that, in times of stress, it doesn’t come easily.

“No problem.” Goody’s like the antithesis of Logan. He lets things roll off him without a second thought and keeps working his ass off with no doubt that things will sort themselves out. It’s a talent Logan has envied on occasion. 

Goody shoos Marcus off. “Go home, I’ve got him.” He dresses down to his pants quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on a kitchen chair.

He drags Logan over to the couch with an arm slung around his neck and sets up a game of Mario Kart. It’s a relatively normal afternoon, despite the fact that Logan’s been in his boxers for days. Goody elbows him when he drops a blue shell and Logan deliberately shoves him back just as he’s trying to navigate a jump.

Mario knocks on the door halfway through their fourth or fifth round. Frankie lets him in and Logan only gets a glimpse of him before they both go into the kitchen. Goody distracts him by dropping a banana peel just in time to spin Logan off the track. That can’t be forgiven, so Logan pays attention to the game. He’s not about to lose  _ another  _ round of Mario Kart in his own house.

He loses. Goody drags him up and into the kitchen, only faintly smug. Logan thinks allowances should be made for his recent illness, but Goody doesn’t seem to care.

Mario lets Frankie show him how to hold his piece and then stays extremely still. It’s small, so Logan’s able to make the seam relatively quickly. The solder cools in neat, smooth lines. Mario hesitates when Logan puts the soldering iron down on its rest. He doesn’t hand Logan’s heart back, cupping it close to his sternum.

“Will you be okay?” He’s so painfully earnest, Logan can’t even look away.

“Yes. I’ll be fine.”

Mario hands his heart back, slow to let go. “Okay.” He smiles warmly. “Can I join you guys for another game of Mario Kart?”

Logan eyes him suspiciously. “Are you going to gloat if you win?”

“Probably,” Mario admits with a shameless little shrug. 

Logan laughs. “Sure. I don’t know if we’re expecting anyone else today, but we can play for a while.”

“Do I have to take my shirt off?”

“No,” Logan reassures him at the same time Barclay says “Yes!”

Mario looks between the two of them and compromises by taking off his hoodie. Logan can’t deny that he feels better with two of them sandwiching him on the couch, even if they’re stealing his title as Mario Kart champion.

*******

It’s a couple days before anyone else is free, though Logan knows by now that Jonesy and Dilly have the last pieces of his heart. Frankie has judged that it’s not going to cause “adverse health effects” if they wait a little longer, so they’re finishing up their brief vacations. Logan’s not going to be cleared for the first couple of games back anyway and he’s not thrilled about it, but there’s nothing he can do to sway Frankie on that front. 

Jonesy comes by after morning skate. He’s been over enough that he’s comfortable fishing in Logan’s fridge while they wait for Frankie to come over. “You been busy?” He takes a sip of Gatorade and waits for Logan’s response.

“No.” Logan’s been downgraded on contact, but he’s still going around with a Tomáš-shaped handcuff. “They won’t even let me watch tape. Managed to kill Bancer about thirty times in Fortnite though. I’m not sure if he fucking sucks or he’s doing some weird pity thing.” Tomáš laughs to himself, but doesn’t look up from his phone.

“If you’re on IR too long, Jumbo’s gonna try to start RISK up again,” Jonesy warns with a smile.

“Jesus, don’t even say that. If Tierns knows we’re playing without him, we’ll all be fucked.”

Jonesy shakes his head ruefully. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Logan says honestly. He tugs on Tommy’s arm. “Still pretty dependent on having another person around though.”

Tomáš hugs him and then goes back to his phone. His hand around Logan’s forearm is quite secure, but he has let Logan lead the way all day. Logan’s even been allowed pants again, though he’s still wandering around shirtless. It’s a little cool for being shirtless, but he’s not going to complain about it after all the work it took to get to this point.

Frankie comes in, having long made a copy of Logan’s house keys. At some point, Logan’s gonna have to ask for them back and that’ll be weird as hell.

Jonesy tapes up his shard quickly, efficiently pinching the copper lining. Logan hadn’t seen it before, but Jonesy’s piece is the weirdest shape he’s seen yet. It almost looks like part of an old railroad spike, all long and angular. It fits into a narrow crack Logan had barely noticed; the depth to which it plunges suggests it’s an integral piece to holding the center of his heart together. It only takes a spot of solder on the outside to seal it in place, so the work is quick. 

When Jonesy hands his heart over, there’s a moment when they’re both touching the heart. Logan almost drops his heart when he feels Jonesy’s heartache reflected at him. It’s like missing a step on the stairs, falling until he’s jolted by the impact. On impulse, he grabs Jonesy’s hand with his free one. “Tommy wanted to watch a movie. Want to join us for a bit?”

Martin nods seriously and Logan can feel the breath he was holding release. If he feels like crap, he can’t imagine being the man between the pipes. The last thing this team needs is another heartbreak.

Tomáš has picked some incomprehensible Czech film from Netflix, so it’s not entirely a surprise that Jonesy falls asleep halfway through. Logan dozes too, trusting that Tomáš won’t let go of him.

Logan catches the end of the movie, but since he’s missed most of the exposition he’s deeply confused about it. Jonesy wakes up as the credits roll, stretching slowly while Tomáš smiles indulgently at them. Thankfully, he wasn’t really expecting them to watch the movie, so they haven’t disappointed him too much.

Jonesy gathers himself slowly. He pats Logan’s knee and says quietly, “I’d offer to stay, but it wouldn’t be much use, I think.”

“No,” Logan says, equally quietly. He catalogs the hurt look on Martin’s face for a fraction of a second. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

Jonesy doesn’t even argue.

“You gotta talk to Frankie,” Logan says firmly. Tomáš is ignoring them both to flick through more foreign Netflix titles. “If you don’t, I’m sending him to talk to you.”

“Captain duties?” Jonesy asks with a grimace.

“Just your friend.” Logan leans forward to squeeze Martin’s shoulder briefly. “I already got a lecture and I don’t think you need to hear one too.”

“Fine,” he sighs. Martin says his goodbyes and abandons Logan with Tomáš, who’s hellbent on ensuring that Logan never gets a Netflix suggestion in English again.

Middsy stays with him during the game since he’s a healthy scratch anyway. Logan thinks Jake’s checking the score on his phone, but by silent agreement they’re watching some wilderness survival show instead. It’s a quiet evening, but not uncomfortable. Jake doesn’t tell him the score and Logan doesn’t ask. 

Marcus and Eddie stop by, assigned to the night shift. They both smell faintly like the rink and Logan wistfully lets himself imagine being back on the ice. They sleep heavily after the game, but Logan’s awake for a long while.

He doesn’t know anyone who’s broken their heart this badly. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be medically cleared to play. He’s been too scared to press Frankie for real answers, worried that the truth may not be pleasant.

*******

He wakes, feeling unsettled. He didn’t sleep well and his dreams were fractured, enigmatic. Marcus holds his hand while he takes a shower, standing patiently outside the shower stall. Logan doesn’t linger too long in the spray, conscious of how inconvenient it is for Marcus to just stand there. 

Goody relieves Marcus after breakfast, but Eddie doesn’t leave. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Eddie says, tipping his chair back to knock it gently against the wall. Logan sticks his leg out to push the chair back down. He doesn’t need Eddie to fall out of a chair or new marks on his wall to fix. He still hasn’t painted over the little red splatters from his only unfortunate attempt at cooking beets.

Dilly knocks on the door after lunch. Goody follows Logan to the door, his wrist in Logan’s hand.

Dilly’s underdressed for the weather, but looks perfectly comfortable. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Better,” Logan says firmly. “Once we’re done, I should be able to stop dragging people along with me.” He holds up Goody’s arm as an example.

Goody grins toothily. “We don’t mind, honestly.” His gaze darts to the side briefly. “Well, except for the bathroom.”

“Yeah,” Logan sighs. “We’ll all be fucking grateful when I can pee without a fuckin’ chaperone.”

Dilly looks slightly discomfited and Logan doesn’t know what to say. The whole situation is weird and there’s no way to pretend it isn’t.

Goody gently suggests, “Let’s go set everything up.”

“I, uh, already did the tape thing,” Dilly says, fishing in his coat pocket. He pulls out a piece the size of his thumbnail, trimmed in copper.

“Looks good,” Logan says, for lack of anything better to say. 

Dilly knows how to wrangle him; he and Jumbo have always had a knack for managing Logan even at the worst times. He waits for Logan to make the first move and then follows his lead without complaint. 

Goody shifts his grip when Logan sits down in the kitchen chair, holding his shoulders instead of his wrist, so Logan’s hands are free. 

“What’s the play?” Dilly asks.

“Hold your piece steady while I glue it all back together,” Logan says, holding out his heart. Dilly takes it carefully and presses his piece into place. 

The edges are sharp and Logan does his best to cover them so they won’t risk cutting anything. It takes more time, but Logan won’t do shoddy work here.

When he’s done, he exhales slowly. It’s a relief to be done. 

Dilly frowns slightly. “Can I...this is a weird question,” he says, forestalling any response by holding up his hand. “Can I have a minute with your heart?”

Logan doesn’t have to think very hard about it. He trusts Dilly implicitly, so he nods.

Dilly walks away, steps outside onto the cold patio. Logan doesn’t want to sit and watch him through the glass, so he drags Goody by the hand and makes him sit on the couch. They watch some stupid TLC show about home renovation and they wait.

Dilly comes back in quietly, the soft click of the door alerting Logan to his return. He hands Logan’s heart back easily, tucking it into Logan’s palm. It seems brighter somehow. When Logan holds it, he feels chastened, but also safe. It reminds him of when he thought he could fly by jumping off the roof and his dad caught him just before he jumped. He was in so much trouble, but only because his parents worried about him. Because they loved him.

Logan feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he swallows hard and blinks them away. “All done?”

“Yeah,” Dilly says with a grin. “I did what I needed to do. Now move the fuck over and tell me why they’re picking such an ugly bathroom tile.”

Logan obliges, shoving Goody to make space. Dilly throws himself onto the couch and listens intently as Goody explains how the family of six needs to move in within two weeks, so they’re compromising on their dream. It’s mindless and easy and Logan’s tired from a night of no sleep. He naps there on the couch to the sounds of Goody and Dilly arguing over backsplash design.

He calls Frankie when he wakes up and Frankie comes over to do a final inspection. 

“It looks fairly stable. Let’s see if Barclay can separate from you safely.” One finger at a time, Frankie coaches Goody through letting go of Logan. 

When Goody steps back finally, Logan’s expecting the dizziness and nausea that have plagued him to return full force. Instead, he gains a mild headache and a greater awareness of his heart. No longer buffered, it’s mildly irritating, like dry skin in the dead of winter or the whine of a refrigerator in the middle of the night. Still, it’s so exciting that Logan can’t help but whoop with joy. “Fuck yeah!”

Dilly gives him a high five. “Congrats, bud.”

Goody gives him a shit-eating grin. “You can stop staring at all our abs now.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “That goes both ways. I’ve never had so many people watch me in the showers. If I’m a fall risk when I’m old and need someone to watch me shower ever again, just shoot me.”

Dilly grins and slaps him on the shoulder. “If you want to put on real pants so fuckin’ badly, then go! The sooner you have clothes on, the sooner we can all go to dinner.”

Frankie steps in briefly. “I’m going to recommend you’re back on the ice. I can’t guarantee Coach will play you, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re cleared. Your heart will continue to heal and I think it’s secured well enough now. As long as you check in weekly for the next month, you should be fine.”

Logan all but skips upstairs to put on pants. He uses the bathroom before they leave; he finishes washing his hands and stays there for a moment, hands dripping into the sink, reveling silently in the feeling of being alone.

*******

Being back on the ice is like waking up to a bright new day. Logan’s happy to hear that he’ll be playing in the game, though probably on the second line until he’s back up to speed. Having him in the line-up maybe more necessity than a real confidence that he’s up to the task, but he’ll take it. It’s nice to be needed instead of needy for once.

Logan overestimated how much he wanted to be alone, really. He invites the rookies out to lunch and tries not to miss having warm bodies in his bed. It will pass, with time. The boys jostle him gently on the ice, a thousand little touches that say “welcome back” without saying anything at all. 

*******

He only gets six games before it all ends for him. He knows the moment he goes down that he’s not getting back up without help. He makes it off the ice with some dignity, waits until he’s on a trainer’s table to curse a blue streak. They numb the pain enough for him to speak with the As and Coach during intermission and Logan tries to keep a brave face. Erik is the last man out the door and he gives Logan a long searching look before he closes the door behind himself. 

They send him for screening, but they all know his leg is broken. It’s just a question of how badly, how to immobilize his leg, how long to heal. It’s not good news, but it could be worse. They give him the prognosis, a boot, and send him home. The trainer who drives him home is blessedly silent as he helps Logan into the house. He leaves Logan with his meds and the instructions for caring for his leg.

When the front door lock clicks, Logan startles. He’s propped up on the couch, using the coffee table as a footstool. He can’t exactly move fast, so he just grips his phone tighter. 

Jumbo comes in, carrying something. “Hey, just wanted to check on you.”

“By scaring the hell out of me?” Logan grumbles, craning his neck to see what Joe’s toting around. 

“I didn’t want to make you get up or wake you up if you’d already taken your meds.” He looks down at Logan. “They did give you the good stuff, right?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting until I go to bed to take them.”

“Makes sense. I picked up some food for you. Do you want some now or should I just stick it in the fridge?”

“I’ll have some now,” Logan says, stretching. “Shouldn’t take the meds on an empty stomach anyway.”

Joe makes him a plate and brings it to him, then sits on the edge of the coffee table to stretch out his legs. “You’re in a better mood than I expected.”

Logan digests that, grabbing his fork to stall. “It’s shitty. But it’s not forever. Pretty straightforward recovery and the docs expect I’ll get back to 100% if I don’t do anything stupid.”

Joe nods. “Need anything else tonight?”

“Nah. I’m wiped out. Just gonna go to bed and deal with everything else in the morning.”

Joe offers him a hand up when he finishes eating. “Here, I’ll help. Where are your meds?”

“Uhhh, coat pocket. Left pocket I think.”

“I’ll grab it in a minute.”

The meds kick in fast once Logan takes them and he trusts Joe to lock up when he leaves. He’s stuck flat on his back with his leg propped up, but he sleeps soundly and there’s no one around to complain if he snores. 

*******

Of course, good news doesn’t seem to survive long this season. When he goes in to talk to the trainers, he’s dragged into a conference room where there’s a pair of suits with dour faces. He leans on his stupid little scooter and asks, “What’s going on?”

Frankie comes in behind him and gestures him towards an empty seat. “Have a seat. There’s something you need to know.”

One of the suits nods and takes out a thick manila folder, which is unnecessarily ominous. “Mr. Franklin has briefed us on your medical updates. Charles, go ahead and explain.”

“I don’t think you’re stable enough to play,” Frankie says bluntly. Logan feels his breath catch. 

“Why?”

“That hit should not have broken your leg this severely. I think your broken heart is weakening your body’s natural resilience. Until you’re completely healed, it’s too much of a risk for you to play full-contact. After your leg heals, you can go back to no-contact practice, but I’m not clearing you to play unless I have good evidence that it’s not going to cause further harm.”

Logan sits there in dead silence.

One of the suits looks at him seriously. “Do you understand?”

Logan nods slowly. He can’t form words.

The suits leave, patting Logan on the shoulder. He sits like a stone. If his heart never heals, he’ll never play again. There’s no guarantee a broken heart will heal correctly, but he’d been hoping so hard that he’d be a miracle case. If his heart never sheds its metallic bandages, he’ll be stuck like this forever, always prone to injury. The solder feels like shackles suddenly.

Frankie sits with him as he tries to grapple with it all. Eventually, Logan stands unsteadily. “I guess I’ll just go home.”

“Get some rest,” Frankie advises, face stern. “Call me if your heart experiences any unusual or painful incidents. Call the doc if your leg gets worse too.”

Logan nods absently and heads out the door. He’s moving on autopilot all the way home. 

He contemplates texting Jumbo to see if he’ll come over for company. Logan’s fairly certain he can’t handle being alone with the news that his career might be over. 

He’s not expecting to find Tomáš and Radim on his doorstep, lounging on the stairs. Tomáš waves as he approaches. “Hey.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Logan asks, unlocking the front door. 

“Bad leg club,” Simmer says, following Logan inside.

“I can text Jumbo too,” Tomáš offers, only partly teasing.

“Come to share your wisdom about how to use a scooter and not look like an idiot?”

“No advice,” Simmer says, shooing Logan towards the kitchen. “Just gonna look stupid.”

Tomáš agrees, far too cheerfully. He rifles through Logan’s cupboards for food. “How long you’re out?”

Logan feels the question like a punch to the chest. The silence stretches on interminably. Tomáš grimaces. “That long?”

“Got the news this morning. Unless my heart is healed, I’m not allowed on the ice.”

“Fuck,” Simmer says sympathetically. Logan nods tersely, but doesn’t elaborate. What’s the point?

Tomáš manages to find bread and deli meat, so he puts together the sloppiest sandwiches Logan has ever had the misfortune of seeing. They all eat together quietly, though Logan’s pretty sure the other two are communicating through significant glances over his head. After lunch, he’s feeling the pain seep back in, so he takes another dose of his meds and goes to sleep it off. 

*******

He doesn’t go to the next couple of games, exhausted and in pain. He watches part of the game against Dallas, at least enough to see the tribute to Pavs and the first period. He sleeps through the rest of it on his couch. 

He wakes up around 11, groggy. There are a couple pictures in the group chat of Pavs drinking with the boys. He can’t drink on his pain meds and he can’t move around much until they give him the clear on bearing weight on the leg. Still, he wishes he were out with them. 

He’s hoping his leg will heal on the doctors’ timeline and he can at least get a proper walking boot or be on crutches. Stairs are currently his nemesis and if he ever does home renovations, he’s adding ramps to fucking everything.

He drags himself off the couch and scoots to the bathroom. He’s washing his hands when he hears the loud knock. The knocking continues as he scoots to the front door, shouting, “I’m coming!”

He’s expecting Jumbo to pop up, so seeing Kevin is quite the surprise. Pavs appearing behind him is even more surprising, but not unwelcome.

“Come on in.” He smiles and lets Pavs pat him on the shoulder as his former captain gently shoves Kevin forward. Kevin looks pretty drunk even before he chooses to go faceplant on the couch.

“I kidnapped him,” Pavs says with a shrug, in answer to Logan’s bemused look.

“Kidnapping other team’s rookies is probably a bad habit,” Logan says lowly, leading the way to his dining table so he can sit and put his leg up. Kevin probably won’t die on his couch.

“Well, I volunteered to drive him home after he chose to drink whatever Erik and Marcus handed him. I’m a Good Samaritan, really.” Pavs leans on the wall next to him, smiling that easy smile. 

“I’m not sure bringing me a drunk dumbass makes you a Good Samaritan, but I’m glad to see you,” Logan says, leaning back and relaxing.

“How’re you doing? I saw the replay of the hit.”

“Shit.” Pavs might be ‘the enemy’ now, but Logan’s known him for too long to lie. 

“Report said six weeks until you’re cleared?”

Logan pauses. “Might be more.”

Pavs hooks a chair over with his foot and sits down hard next to him. “More?”

“Yeah, broke my heart and Frankie’s being a bastard and making a fuss about me being ‘fragile’ or some shit.” Logan says it boldly, because it’s not like Frankie can curse him and make his life worse at this point.

“No other physical injuries though,” Pavs asks, frowning deeply.

“Nothing more than the usual soreness. Even that’s fading, the longer I lay around like a couch potato.”

Pavs socks him in the arm unexpectedly.

“OW--hey, what the fuck?!” Logan slides his chair back out of Pavs’ reach.

“You are so fucking stupid,” Pavs says. “All this time and you couldn’t pick up the phone, you goddamn moron.”

“Hey!” It’s fucking hurtful, is what it is. Logan’s been through quite enough without getting yelled at. “It’s not my fault.”

“You are so dumb, buddy, give me your heart.”

“No,” Logan protests immediately. “Why do you need it?”

“I’m gonna fucking fix it,” Pavs says. “You think I’d let you just give a piece of your heart away?”

“What?” Logan’s starting to feel like he’s having the wrong conversation.

Pavs scrabbles at his own chest and then holds up his heart, looking relatively glossy and bright. He digs his nails into one edge and a whole sheet pops off. 

“What the fuck?”

“You used your heart to heal mine,” Pavs growls. Logan can see that underneath the facade, Pav’s heart has deep scratches and chips. “Now give me your fucking heart.”

Logan offers it up slowly, tentatively. He trusts Pavs, absolutely, but he’s not sure what Pavs plans to do. He doesn’t even have Frankie’s equipment. 

Pavs takes his heart, looking at it with no small amount of horror. He slides the thin film he peeled off his heart over the rugged face of Logan’s heart. It’s a perfect match. Pavs encloses the heart in his large hands, pressing it together like he plans to turn coal into a diamond. “You are so fucking stupid,” he repeats. “I couldn’t figure out who would love me enough to rip their heart apart to fix mine, because that’s fucking insane.”

The more Pavs calls him names, the more Logan can hear the worry and love underneath. 

“All you ever had to do is call me. Mention that maybe I have your fucking heart and you need it. You think they’re not paying me enough in Dallas to afford a flight out here? You think I wouldn’t come back for you?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Logan mutters. “I didn’t know I was still missing a piece.”

“Even if I didn’t have something you needed,” Pavs says, voice like steel, “you should fucking call. Don’t ever need a reason to call.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan says finally.

“I’m sorry too,” Pavs says, deflating. “It was hard to leave you all, but that should never have been on your shoulders. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll heal in time. It’s getting easier to be in Texas.” 

Logan can hear the half-truth, but he lets it slide. “I don’t think you get to yell at me about how much you worry and then tell me I can’t worry about you.”

Pavs smiles faintly at that. “Maybe so.”

He takes Logan’s hand and presses his heart back into it firmly. “There. Save your dumb shit for the rink before you make me as grey as Jumbo.”

Logan looks at his heart with wonder. It’s smooth, the raw scrapes softened. Even the soldered bits look fuller, like they’re sealing themselves and pushing out the solder. It feels like warm sun on his skin, well-worn skates, and his mom’s cooking. 

He goggles at Pavs. “How...?”

Pavs looks vaguely guilty. “Uh, natural aptitude. I’m not professionally trained, but Grandma Pavelski’s powers were sort of unavoidable.”

“You’re a heart witch?”

“Not legally,” Pavs hisses, glancing back at the living room like Kevin might come and arrest him for illegal magic practice. 

Logan stares, unblinking. “Okay. Okay.”

“You literally cannot tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” He tucks his heart back into his chest, feels it fill him with the sound of skates cutting through ice and the elation of of being surrounded by the people he loves. He reaches for Pavs, awkward with the boot weighing down his leg. Pavs closes the distance and hugs him. “Thank you.”

“Just remember,” Pavs says softly into his ear, “even if you break your own damn heart, you don’t have to fix it alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN:  
> Yes, Logan has to figure out how to explain his miraculous heart healing. No one believes him, but they don't have another explanation.  
> His leg is still broken, but he's much more cheerful.  
> The Bad Leg Club meets biweekly to complain and do PT and maybe eat snacks. Hertl is their club president and Logan's Netflix will literally never recover.


End file.
